The Fall
by Hela's Hand
Summary: We are told to never interact with the world of the living, no matter what we might see. It was fine. The earthly emotions we once felt were dull, and we lived in bliss. But one day, we looked back, and watched. I felt her hand leave mine and...I plan to not let this turn into a regret. (Story itself will not be in First Person and POVs will switch back and forth)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** – Wrote the majority of this chapter in September but since I've started posting stories I decided to at least put this up.

**Warnings** – T...that's about it. And AU, that too.

**Disclaimer **– Don't own Harry Potter and glad I don't. I'm far too demented to write a child's book.

And before you ask, yes, it was inspired by Supernatural a bit. But it's not a crossover and won't turn into one of those 'oh, so you're here now' kind of fics.

I blow at grammar and have no one to help me, just warning you.

Thanks for reading in advance!

*** ~ " ****To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world. ****" – ****Bill Wilson**** ~ ***

A natural reaction, gasping for air. But there was no air to suck into the body's newly formed lungs, and the human instinct of hysteria took over and the fingers started to tear the throat, as if a new hole would bring in the air it wanted.

The brain sparked and he forced himself to remember who he was.

He brought a hand up and met something solid. He made a fist and tried to move his arm back, intended to punch his way out of his prison, but his elbow hit something. He turned his head and realized he was in complete darkness.

His hand shot up and heard the satisfying crunch of wood breaking. Dirt fell down on him as the still air around him tingled, a large clump bouncing off his forehead. He brought his arm back as far as it would go and punched up again.

The tingle stopped as the wood broke, his fist touching cold, damp earth. He brought his other hand up to tear the wood apart as the earth caved on top of him.

He grabbed the earth and brought it inside, knowing that what he was in had to be filled so he didn't slip back in.

He started crawling out of the hole he made, feeling the pressure of the earth crush his form. He ignored it and focused on getting to the surface.

He wiggled and pushed his legs out of his wooden box. He would've sighed in relief if he had any air in his crushed lungs. He pushed whatever dirt he could underneath him and scooted upward, the dirt becoming wetter the higher he got.

He suddenly heard the telltale muffled downpour of rain. He paused, listening for any sounds.

No hiss or screams. He kept climbing.

His fingertips broke through the mud. He felt the rain pound on them in rhythm as if they were drums.

He rejuvenated heart gave a jolt as he gripped the earth and tried to force his body up. His fingers slipped and brought more mud in the hole.

He used the soil below to push himself up a bit more to get a good hold above. He dug into the soil and pushed his body up, the rain pounding on his back as he finally squirmed free.

He turned and let the rain fall on top of him, relaxing for the first time in what must have been a thousand years. His mind was blissfully empty of thoughts as he stared at the dark blue sky.

When he felt the last of his organs repair itself and took in a breath.

The smog air of civilization burned his new lungs and he quickly coughed it up. He waited a moment before taking another one, knowing he had to get use to it, or the humans would start asking questions.

_'Too curious for their own good,'_ he thought as he saw a few teenagers to his left, frozen as they gazed at him.

He made himself smile good naturally at them, "like my stunt?"

They stared at him in confusion before one asked, "stunt?"

"Yeah," he said with a cocky grin as he spotted the beer cans. "It's a new movie I'm in, requires me to try to dig out of a grave and scare little kids like you."

They gave short laughs as he bounced back to his feet and gave a curtsy.

"I must be gone," one said as she took a sip from her can.

"Got one to spare?" he asked.

"Sure dead man," the oldest one said as he dug in the cooler and held one out for him.

He took it and carefully opened it, not wanted to get mud on it as he drank it all.

He crushed it after he was done, "thanks mate. I was dead thirsty."

They gave a short snort at his corny joke.

"Anyway," he said as he threw the can into his grave, "my assistant should be here to clean this mess up in about an hour or so. Better be gone before than."

Most were too drunk to see the flawed logic, but the more sober one had to call out, "why aren't they here with you now?"

"I like to practice my own stunts alone," he answered. "My assistant would get in the way. Sides, what I just did wasn't exactly legal, and I would rather only one of us get caught in the act. Before you freak out, it's an empty grave, but it's still kinda counts as disturbing the sanctity of the graves if I climb out of one, so the law says..."

He saw the teens buy his lie and waved goodbye as he walked out of the graveyard.

_'The teens' car...their parents' car...there we go.'_ He used his magic to turn off the alarm and open the door. He went inside and turned it on.

"Smells like mid–life crisis," he muttered as he drove it down the street.

He passed the graveyard and gave the leaving kids a short salute before looking back at the road, _'I hope Harry hasn't changed into those kind of teenagers in the time I took to escape that place. I might have to kill Dumbledore twice instead of once.'_

*** ~ "Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones." – Jeffery McDaniel ~ ***

Tell me if your interested to see where this goes. It might be a while, though, cause I would have to read book 5 again (it's been a long time, my old friend).


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note** – *Pokes your cold corpse* Ehh...

Don't I come up with the crappy titles on the fly? Literally just picked it from a quote I heard.

(Petyr Baelish's quote about how chaos is a ladder and many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. Those who have the opportunity to climb it don't because they cling to the Realm {their hometown or homes in general}, the Gods {self explanatory} or love {family/friends/lovers} and how it's all illusions and only the ladder is real. Climbing it to reach power is all that is real...Why do I see Voldemort making a similar speech?)

Sorry it took so long, I'm usually a faster reader but I took a break/puppy to the vet so reading was put to the side a bit.

And not gonna lie, might have hit a snag with this story in storytelling (Damn it, Harry). So I had to find the perfect mix between my voice and Rowling's (What fun that was), and Harry's part is the result of that mixing (so sorry people who study Literature in college or on their free time).

Warning and Disclaimer same as before. There might be mistakes cause it's just little old me editing this story.

This chapter has something graphic that might make the squeamish and/or imaginative go *dry heaves*

Just a heads up.

*** ~_ "Night falls, strange–colored walls. My eyes, deceive, what is wrong...with me..."_ ~ ***

_'Took them long enough,'_ James thought as he took off his jacket down, _'nice to know I was so loved after my death.' _

He scratched at the beard on his face, hating its texture.

He picked up the wooden statue on the table and the knife, looking for any imperfections on its surface. Finding none, he began whittling the left ear a bit. He rubbed his finger over the ear, poking the tip with his digit. He moved some magic to his fingertip and rubbed over the sharp edge.

_'Stop that!'_

He dropped it on the table, throwing the knife after it. The sleeping hound looked up at the sudden noise, her black eyes turning to stare at him. He rubbed one of her cone ears and she laid her large head back down.

James ran his hand through his still uncut hair. He twirled a lock of it for a moment before looking at the clock. _'Eleven fifty–five. It's seven fifty–five_ _over there.' _He leaned on his chair as he looked at the ceiling, _'wonder if Harry's awake? It's summer, but...'_

He frowned at the road his thoughts were going, then groaned as he got up and walked to the bathroom. He took the electric shear he brought and tried not to think about it too much as he turned it on, brought it to his head, and ran it over, trying to not watch as his hair fell.

_'The things I do for love,' _he thought as he moved his hand over his short hair, wincing at the pointed feel. He used his magic to get rid of the hair, _'now that the worst is out of the way...'_

He walked out and made sure the blinds were closed tightly and the door locked. He walked to the table, put on the gloves, and picked of the scoop. He put the piece of leather beneath his teeth and bit down before putting it below his eye.

He ignored the pain as his vision blurred before going out on that side. He checked to make sure his eye was intact before weaving a spell to connect the statue with his eye.

Once that was done, he took the bowl and put the eye inside, ignoring the tingle in his right eye as he poured the salts inside. The spices almost burned his nose as he poured them inside slowly, forcing himself to keep breathing.

After mixing the ingredients with his eye, he took a cloth and began to spread it on the statue.

_'Wonder if Sirius will check the statue too,'_ James thought as he checked it. It had a dull shine. _'Now to wait for it to settle before waxing it,'_ he thought as he took off the deteriorating gloves, _'joy.'_

James destroyed the gloves and put the statue aside. He brought the letter over, glaring at the quill before taking it with his left hand and writing down a few sentences. He skimmed it over and sucked through his teeth as he saw the smudge, realizing he still had the leather in his mouth.

He spat it out.

_'Almost got on my ring,'_ he thought as he saw the blurred dried mark on his hand. James paused before closing his right eye.

He saw the clearing form of his two hands and his turning head from the angle of the table.

"...good thing I'm already married."

*** ~ "_Why should it matter, your dreams of a child? Innocence is gone, only fear to play with. Bases are changing, but nothing is changing the pain...Too late..." _~ ***

"Wait, Harry!" He looked at Tonks, noticing her cheeks were slightly pink as her lips spread in an embarrassed smile, "an owl sent this to the house about two weeks ago. Had to check and triple check it, than Moody got a hold of it and, well. Might lift that spirit of yours up."

She gave him a wrapped box with a white letter attached with a knowing smile on her face before leaving, her waist length hair swished behind her.

Harry turned to walk up the stairs, quietly slipping past her portrait before examining the box as he walked.

The words **'Harry Potter'** was written in black ink on the envelope. The box itself had red wrapping paper and a gold ribbon, like a Christmas...

He stopped thinking as he heard sobbing. "Hello?" he asked.

There wasn't an answer.

He climbed the remaining stairs as he cradled the box in his arm, feeling the edges as he walked across the landing and opened the drawing–room door.

Someone was cowering near against the dark wall, her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking in sobs at something sprawled on the dusty old floor –

_"R – riddikulus!"_ the woman sobbed.

_Crack_

Bill's body disappeared and in his place was Mr. Weasley's. Harry watched the trail of blood tricked down his face, passing his askew glasses, before croaking, "Mrs. Weasley – "

"No!" Mrs. Weasley moaned. "No..._riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!"_

Harry moved with his back to the wall as one by one with a loud _Crack_ the corpses of the twins, Percy, and himself appeared, feeling the rough edge of the box with his thumb.

"Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here!" shouted Harry as he stared at himself. "I'm not really dead, no one is really dead. It's just a boggart, come on – "

"Riddikulus," a voice interrupted, firmly and clearly.

Harry looked at who spoke the spell before watching himself turn into a silvery orb. It hovered in the air before Lupin waved his wand. The orb vanished in a puff of smoke.

Harry turned back to Mrs. Weasley, who was gulping up air and crying into her hands. He crossed the remaining space and reached his hand awkwardly towards her, "Mrs. Weasley..."

She looked up with red eyes at his voice. "Harry, I'm so sorry, what must you think of me?" she said shakily with a stuffy voice. "Not even being able to take care of a boggart by myself, being silly..."

"It was the boggart that was silly," Harry told her while trying to smile. "A silly, lying boggart."

"I'm just s–s–so worried," she said. He heard someone step up behind him and looked up to see Lupin. He moved out of the way and let him talk to her, the box digging into his side. "I see them dead all the time," he heard her say to Lupin as he moved to the door.

He saw the other two who came with Lupin and saw Sirius was intently watching the spot where his body laid and Moody looking at him. Harry looked away and walked to Sirius, touching his hand a bit to show that he was there.

Sirius looked down at him with unreadable gray eyes before smiling at him, an arm snaking around his shoulders. He brought him close but loosened his hold when Harry started to move so the box wouldn't get in the way.

"What you got there?" Sirius said with a rough voice.

Harry didn't comment on it, "Tonks gave it to me. Said it was sent by an owl a few weeks ago."

He held up the wrapped box for him to see. Sirius' face seemed to changed as he looked down at it. His hand quickly reached out and took the letter, his eyes darkening.

"Sirius?" Harry asked as he continued to stare after a few moments in a tense silence.

"What is it, Sirius?" Lupin asked, suddenly at their side.

His gray eyes darted before he tore the letter open and read. Harry saw Lupin's nose twitch when the letter almost hit him before confusion spread across his face.

Sirius shook his head suddenly and handed the letter back to him, "I thought..."

Suddenly, he all but ran out of the room, his face clouded.

"May I?" Lupin asked after a moment. Harry gave him the letter and watched as his face changed from surprise to understanding.

"What?" Harry asked.

Lupin seemed to be fighting with himself over something, "at a glance, the style could be mistaken for your father's."

Harry looked down, the image of his parent's smiling faces appeared. His father waved at him in his mind, staying there even after he closed the door to his room. He sat on his bed and put the box and letter in front of him.

He looked at the two before picking the box up. It looked to be wrapped professionally, but he could see bits of tape showing and a banged up edge.

He brought his fingers to the ribbon but stopped himself. He glanced at the letter and picked it up to read:

_Dear Mr. Harry J. Potter:_

_I don't really know how to start this so I'll just go ahead and say it. __I do believe a war is coming. _

_I don't know if it'll reach all the way across the pond, and I don't know if it truly was Voldemort _– Harry saw that this word was smudged a bit, as if the person contemplated writing Voldemort's name for too long and the ink bleed – _that you saw in_ _the graveyard, but I do know that if there is someone who is sick enough to kill one child and almost kill another during what is supposed to be a fun, albeit dangerous, tournament, he won't stop with just one killing._

_I know it's not much, but I carved a bear out of dogwood for you. The bear is suppose to mean protection, if what I remember from reading on Native American history is correct. I have a feeling you're going to need all the protection you can get if someone is masquerading as that dead monster._

_I don't know if you'll read this, or if this will be immediately burned, but I can't just sit back and watch someone from my brother country being smacked around while thinking that only his closest friends are with him, which I hope they are. _

_And I want you to know that there are some out here who can hear the hounds of war._

_Sincerely,_

_Jamie Cohen_

Harry put the letter down, his thoughts racing. Who was this person? How did she know about what was going on in Britain, did the Daily Prophet sell over there? How did she get this letter to him?

The first two questions were easy enough to figure out. She could have family in the UK and have heard about it from them. If that was the case, getting a letter to him would be easy.

_'There are some out here who can hear the hounds of war.'_

Harry looked at the box, undoing the ribbon and ripping the wrapping. He lifted the top of the box and looked inside.

A glossy bear was inside, standing on top of common colored wax paper. He picked the bear out and saw that it had no eyes, and neither did it have a mouth. There was no details on the bear at all.

Harry noticed the left ear and saw how it was shorter, thinner, and rounder. He ran his thumb over the top, feeling himself smile at it.

He didn't know why he was smiling. Maybe it was the gesture that someone took the time to do something for him that made him happy, something so common and...human?

He didn't know. He just felt something the longer he stared at it. He groaned in frustration at the indescribable feeling.

He pulled out some wax paper before grabbing the box and putting it in the trash can, watching it for a moment. He wrapped the bear and put the letter back in the envelope before going to his trunk to find room for it.

*** ~ _"Over and Over it calls to your soul. Say it isn't so, emptiness surrounds you. No one can help, if the angels refuse to come near...who's there?..." _– Akira Yamaoka:_ Acceptance _~ ***

Fin.

God damn this took Forever! Thank you to those who had the patience to wait so long for this.

And now to crush your spirits:

This will be a fun, work on and upload whenever kind of project. Meaning? This will probably take me years to finish.

You can come cry on my shoulder now. Shh...let it all out...Shh baby, shh...*whispers in your ear* soon you will be begging that I didn't pick this fic up again...

Should I change the title? Cause I first named it 'A Father's Devotion' but that sounded cheesy as...pizza...


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